Affinity
by Blue Drgnfly
Summary: Fate, it would seem, had a sense of humor darker than his own – for what other reason would he find himself time and time again, thrown together with the one most annoying, enigmatic, unobtainable person in the whole of the world?
1. Thread of Fate

**Affinity**

**Blue Drgnfly**

All Hail the Edited Prologue!

This is my look at how a relationship between Severus/Hermione could come to pass while she is still in school. It takes place in her seventh year and she is 18 (Rowling has finally confirmed she was 'almost 12' at the beginning of her first year) and therefore has been a legal adult in the wizarding world for over a year (Rowling states that the legal wizarding age is 17, in which you get your Apparation license ect…) But anywho, I'm rambling! This was supposed to be an introspective one-shot, but the plot bunnies decided otherwise. It is now mapped out to be around 15 Chapters long. Enjoy!

I do not own Harry Potter, if I did, this would be published… and the series would be much more :ahem: Adult. All rights belong to JK Rowling and numerous other people that are exponentially richer than I.

Now On With the Show!

* * *

**Prologue**

**The Thread of Fate**

Fate, it would seem, had a sense of humor darker than his own – for what other reason would he find himself time and time again, thrown together with the one most annoying, enigmatic, unobtainable person in the whole of the world?

He felt the affinity, the strange connection between his person and her own, long ago – when any thought of seeking her out was disturbing, amoral, and altogether a Bad Idea. So, as years of training had taught him to suppress desires, emotions – things that marked a being as human – he had smothered the spark of interest, the yen he felt for her. Years spent rebuking her – trying desperately to discourage interaction – yet, never able to kill the spark. That damned affinity. Of course, it was simply a case of like being drawn to like. He recognized her intelligence, her maturity – saw her ostracized for her differences – and felt the pull of connection. It was the acknowledgement of finding someone who might understand, when so few did, and wanting to seek them out. It was loneliness. Nothing more.

And so he willed it to fade, becoming a splinter trapped in his mind, dull and slowly festering. Of course, it helped when she found companionship – it lessened the bittersweet pull, the ache, to see something so painfully like his own experience. However, it seemed that even her choice of friends drew her back to him, causing him to constantly interact with her, in class, in the halls, on the weekends… Fate had paired her with the one person in the school he was obligated to protect.

So, he resigned to pushing her away with cruelty – something he was quite used to. He snarled at her intelligence, ridiculed her determination, criticized her friends, and scoffed at her appearance. It did little to ease the strange need to know her, but it did ensure one thing. She would never seek him out.

Years passed and he began to master the pull, forcing it into the back of his self-conscious, feeling its presence only when he caught a glimpse of her sparkling intelligence, or in the instances when she was caught up in danger. But Fate would not allow him rest. No, after years of ignoring and pushing it away – the affinity became something more substantial. It became a yearning, an ache. In her fourth year. At fifteen. He found himself repulsive, sinking lower into the depths of self-depreciation. He was the worst sort of person, a lecherous old fool. He blamed it on the affinity, the pull that had made him notice her intellect and, later, her beauty. He blamed it on loneliness. But it did not change what he had become. He hated himself.

Two years passed – and yet nothing had changed. Desperately, he threw himself into his duty, sinking into the corruption that had ruled over the majority of his life in atonement. He threw himself into danger. He deserved to die; he was despicable. But even his duties would not separate her from him, seeing as she was working for the same cause – although by different means. At the end of her sixth year, Fate had laughed, twisting the thread that connected the two, as the one reprieve from her presence was taken from him. She began to spend her summers with the Order. Seeing her constantly, her presence caused a sharp tug in the area that he once believed contained a heart.

It was over that summer before her seventh year that something changed. Despite his cruelty, his scathing remarks, and his indifference – she began to seek him out. Uncertain of her motives, he desperately tried to fend her off to no avail. No, he had learned long ago, that once her mind was set, there was no swaying her. As a man obsessed, he relished their confrontations, hating himself more for the pleasure her presence caused him.

And as the confrontations grew in frequency, the ache became something wholly more frightening than before. He desired her. Her friendship, her body, her comfort. And, in moments of bliss, when he was in her company, far from the role of teacher and student, he could almost forget the nature of their relationship, the age difference, and his responsibility. Almost.

In the dark hours of the night, he laughed at his delusion, imagining her revulsion if she ever knew his mind. Yet sometimes, when they were alone and talking quietly in the kitchens, or in the potions lab of Grimmauld Place, he felt the affinity and wondered if she felt it too. But it was only a further delusion. For she could never feel anything for someone so broken as him – discarded, tainted, depraved. A murderer. A turncoat. A bastard… the worst sort of person. So he had come to a resolve; when the summer came to an end, he would abandon their odd, fragile quasi-friendship, putting her permanently at arm's length.

But Fate had other plans. As her seventh year drew close, she, like many other talented students, put it upon herself to choose an Independent Advance Studies course in the field she wished to apprentice in. Potions. Appalled at the idea of spending a whole year in close proximity to her – alone – he had emphatically refused – fought, to keep her away. But Albus had intervened. And, as in all issues concerning the headmaster, he had complied. Despite all his efforts, he could not escape her.

A knock on the door pulled Severus from his reverie, his eyes traveling to the partially opened entrance where a slight figure stood, leaning against the doorjamb, hair in disarray as she gazed at him from the entranceway.

He sighed, smothering the ache in his chest, "Yes, Miss Granger?" His voice rang through the expanse – calm, cool, calculated.

Her fingers tapped against the doorframe lightly, eyes reflecting the light blazing from the window behind him, casting her in a golden light. She bit her lip thoughtfully, hesitating only momentarily before entering the room.

She paused a few feet from his desk, "Professor, I was wondering…"

An eyebrow rose, "About your independent study?" He read the affirmation in her eyes. "And you couldn't bring yourself to wait for an official acceptance letter from the headmaster?" he mocked, his voice not quite able to capture his usual rancor.

She blushed, "No, actually… acceptance letter? Does that mean that you've accepted?"

He stared at her silently, his hands resting under his nose, as he regarded her, her eyes shone with hope and something not quite definable. "Yes, Miss Granger. It would seem I am forced to endure your presence longer than I had originally anticipated."

She smiled, her shoulders relaxing with an exhaled breath. "Thank you, sir."

He nodded, the ache in his chest returning, causing him to bite his cheek to keep his expression clear.

Fate is a cruel bitch.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

This chapter has a much more introspective tone than the rest of the story will have. This is partially because it was supposed to be a one-shot, and because I wanted to give the reader an in depth look into Severus' developing feelings over the span of seven years. Please Review! I would love some feedback for this fanfiction! Until next time…

Blue Drgnfly


	2. Enigma

**Affinity**

**Blue Drgnfly**

A special thanks to my newly acquired Betas, Perionan and Meg, who were so kind to edit my work even though one is an avid slash shipper and the other hardly reads fanfiction at all! Without them, this story would only be quasi-legible… So three cheers to them! Thanks you guys!

For all Disclaimers, look to the Prologue, I don't own it people. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Enigma**

Hermione sighed, her feet swinging as she sat at the kitchen table, stirring Mrs. Weasley's leftover porridge and scanning her seventh year Transfiguration text for what was at least the fifth time. The kitchen in Grimmauld Place was as disconcerting as ever, dark and suffocating, as the faded pine of the cabinets seemed to be closing in on her. She glanced out the hazy window in search of some sign of reprieve from the gloom of the afternoon. Her shoulders slouched as she found none and her head dropped down to stare broodingly at her porridge, which was beginning to become cold and lumpy. She hated porridge, especially when she was forced to eat it in the middle of the afternoon, but it seemed no one was here, and the lack of food in the intimidating house had left little choice.

Sweeping her hair from her face, she pushed up from the table, correcting her posture to look around resolutely. There must be something useful she could do… even the smallest task. She sighed again, her eyes closing in resignation. There was nothing to do, at least nothing anyone would let her do. She had discovered that the first week she arrived at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.

She hated the war. Not, as most would assume, because it was War, she had resigned herself to that idea after the incident with the Stone in her first year, it was the confinement, the restriction, and the reluctance of anyone to treat her as an adult. Her fingers tapped rapidly against the wooden table, her feet resuming their swing. Full-out war against the Dark Lord had become official in the summer after her fifth year, and as a result, many liberties had been taken away for the sake of safety. Hogsmeade weekends became a thing of the past for the students of Hogwarts the previous year and, as summer approached, she had found her vacation had been suspended as well. It was logical of course, and she had agreed immediately. She was one of the best friends of Harry Potter, a Muggleborn, and unlike Ron, she had no one to protect her at her home in the Muggle suburbs. But she had not expected to be kept from aiding the Order, to be coddled. She was not used to feeling useless.

Anxious, she left her stool at the table, setting her plate in the sink, smoothing her skirt, and walking resolutely towards the door. She paused when she reached the doorframe, uncertain of where she was heading. Leery, she glanced towards the staircase; her gaze settling on a certain curtain-covered painting and instantly vetoed heading upstairs. Biting her lip, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear as she looked longingly at the door leading to the front yard before resigning herself to the meager 'library' which contained a scant few dozen books – all of which she had fervently read in her first few weeks at the safehouse. Turning left of the kitchen, towards said library, she paused, turning back around, when she heard the doorknob turn. Maybe it was Ron, or Ginny, or even Luna…

Humming, the figure entered, a shock of pink and blue hair standing out in the grayness of the room.

Hermione smiled, "Hello, Tonks."

The woman jumped, tripping on the side table next to the door, lurching forward dangerously before careening backwards, arms flailing wildly in the air. A loud crash echoed as the woman regained her footing, knocking a vase over in the process. Halting mid-action, the two women cautiously turned towards the covered painting, eyes wide as sound issued from behind the curtain. With a 'harrumph' the incoherent babble faded into snoring. Exhaling, the girls looked down at the ruined vase.

"Bugger…" Tonks swore, pulling her wand from her sleeve and muttering 'Reparo' before looking up at the other occupant in the room.

"Hello, Hermione…" she said, grinning sheepishly as she tugged at the edge of her sleeve – her gaze lingering towards the once broken vase.

Hermione's lips twitched as she grinned at the older woman, trying desperately not to laugh. "How many times have you broken that vase?"

Tonks snorted, pushing a tuft of pink behind her ear, "This week?" Both girls laughed.

"So, what brings you here? Aren't you supposed to be out doing something important for the Order?" Hermione questioned, her lips still twitching in mirth.

The other woman rolled her eyes, "I am here on Order business… as to the importance of it…" she shrugged. "I'm just relating some information Dung has for Snape."

Hermione blinked, her eyebrow quirked as she glanced around the house – as if he would suddenly appear from the shadows.

"Snape's here?"

"Mmm…" she grinned, "yeah, he's here alright. I swear, that man spends more time here than he ever did in the past. I'll never forget the look on Molly's face the first time he showed for dinner."

The woman leaned closer to Hermione, her smile taking on a mischievous slant, "I heard it has something to do with Dumbledore's nagging him to 'socialize' more. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation!"

Hermione laughed half-heartedly as the Order member excused herself, heading in the direction of the room the Potions Master usually occupied. Hermione watched her go, her smile fading as pink and blue faded into the gray. Severus Snape. She sighed, leaning against the doorjamb of the kitchen, fighting the urge to head towards his quarters.

Severus Snape had become something of a project for Hermione over the summer – though she would loathe to tell him that. He had changed in her mind, from a cruel one-dimensional teacher, to a puzzling human being her fourth year, when she discovered his role as a spy. Suddenly, she began to question his actions, marveling at the concept of subterfuge and the consequences it could have on a person's life. No wonder he was such a bastard in class. She smiled to herself as her arms crossed over her chest and her head rested against the wall. Sighing, she let her eyes drift closed. It was with that discovery that she suddenly felt the urge to defend him against Harry and Ron. Not to say he wasn't still an evil git… she just felt she understood him better.

It wasn't until her stay at Grimmauld Place that she began to wonder, in earnest, just who Professor Severus Snape really was. She blamed her curiosity, of course, on Dumbledore, on the conversation she overheard him having with McGonagall… the words still reverberating in her mind:

"…_I'm worried about him, Albus. He's pushing everyone away – even more than usual. As if he's preparing himself for death."_

"_I fear for him too, Minerva. Severus, for whatever reason, is sinking deeper into his solitude. I have never met a more lonely man…"_

So, she sought him out. Not that she expected to be friends with him – she doubted that was possible – but she suddenly, desperately wanted to understand him. She had never been able to leave a puzzle unsolved – and Snape was an enigma.

What she had not planned on was enjoying his company. Granted, he was still sarcastic, acerbic Snape – but she was beginning to understand his dry humor and, when he was outside of the classroom, he treated her like an adult – mostly. And he was intelligent – frighteningly so. They also had a surprising number of things in common; from academia, to views on war, to how they took their tea… she had long since ceased to think of him simply as Professor Snape. He was, as curiously as it had come about, her friend. At least, she thought so. Her lip quirked. She doubted, however, that her Professor would appreciate the sentiment.

"You been there the whole time?" Tonks inquired, striding towards her from the hall.

Hermione brought her head upright to look at the now disgruntled- looking woman. She watched as the Auror shook her head, biting her nail as she turned to glance back at the room she had come from.

Hermione nodded, "Yeah… what's wrong?"

Tonks ran her hand through her oddly colored hair, "Hmm… he's in a mood." She rolled her eyes, no need to elaborate on who she was referring to.

Hermione smiled, "Ah…"

"Well, I best be off. It was nice seeing you Hermione – try not to die of boredom before I return."

Hermione laughed, shaking her head as she said farewell to the Order member, her eyes lingering on the door as it closed. She stared at the spot, lost in thought. A slight noise coming from the vicinity of the Potions Master's room brought her back to reality. Pushing off from the wall, she stared at the hallway leading to his quarters. She wanted to talk to him and yet… She paused, smiling in satisfaction – her eyes narrowing, determinedly – she could always ask about her independent study course – that was as good as any other excuse to speak with him. Decision made, she resolutely made her way down the hall.

The door was ajar when she reached it. Vaguely, she could see him sitting at his desk, staring at some undetermined point – his eyes black and bottomless. Silently, she leaned against the doorjamb, debating whether she wanted to disturb him. In the window behind him, the sun broke through the clouds, casting him in shadow and denying her access to his face.

She knocked tentatively at the door.

He looked up, staring at her from his desk, his face still cast in shadow.

His curt voice cut the silence.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

She swallowed compulsively, her fingers drumming the doorframe, suddenly on edge and wanting desperately to read his expression. Biting her lip, she stepped a few paces into the room, stopping when the sun no longer cast shadows over his person.

His face came into view, but it was no more readable than it had been before.

She sighed softly, "Professor, I was wondering…"

His eyebrow mocked her, "About your independent study?" he paused to regard her, "And you couldn't bring yourself to wait for an official acceptance letter from the Headmaster?" His voice was cutting, but the phrase was sarcastic, almost humorous.

Hermione blushed, recalling that she hadn't really come here to find out about her studies at all. "No, actually…" – wait – "acceptance letter? Does that mean you've accepted?"

His hands moved to settle beneath his nose, his thumbs coming to rest under his chin, "Yes, Miss Granger. It would seem I am forced to endure your presence longer than I had originally anticipated."

She smiled, eyes dancing at the prospect of spending more time with him. Honestly, she had been dreading the end of the summer, afraid that the relationship would return back to that of student and teacher. She exhaled, feeling much lighter, like a burden had been lifted from her chest.

Her smile widened, "Thank you, sir."

He nodded, his eyes darkening slightly as he regarded her. They remained that way for some time.

Frowning, he stood abruptly, causing the papers on his desk to flutter with the movement. His hands settled onto the desk as he leaned forward, his eyes never leaving her form.

Lank hair fell forward, partially covering his eyes. His upper lip twitched, "Is that all you wished to speak with me about, Miss Granger? Or had you come here to gape?"

The Potions Master was back.

She sighed, preparing to retort, but he stopped her, his hand moving to silence her.

"No matter. I have some – business to attend to elsewhere." He gathered the papers from his desk, "I'm afraid I don't have time for any _friendly chats._" he sneered, shoving the papers into a desk drawer and warding it.

Her arm came up to clutch her elbow defensively at the change in his demeanor. Her eyes regarded him warily, suddenly quite clear on the fact that she had yet to understand him.

She stepped towards him subconsciously, "Will you be coming back soon?"

He stiffened, glaring at her, his eyes flickering before becoming cold. "That is none of your concern." He said sharply, his eyes narrowing.

Silence filled the room.

"However," he began, still regarding her strangely, "I take great pleasure in assuring you I will not be back before the beginning of the school year and thus, will not have to endure your presence before the term."

"But –" she stopped, her mouth slightly agape, "term doesn't start for a few more weeks…" her other arm came to rest on the opposite elbow, her weight shifting from one foot to the other.

His eyes became slits, "Some of us have more important things to do than sit idly."

She winced, hugging herself.

"I see." She whispered, stepping back towards the door, "Then I bid you farewell, Professor."

He stared at her, eyes capturing hers, black orbs swirling, but still she couldn't read them. He nodded infinitesimally, hesitating only slightly, before sweeping from the room, leaving her staring out the window beyond his desk. Distantly, she heard the front door swing close as the sun slipped once again behind the fog, leaving her surrounded in gray.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And so you have Chapter One… Hopefully I'm conveying both their feelings poignantly enough. I wanted to really capture the tension between the two. Hope I was successful! Reviews are much appreciated, especially so early on in the story. They keep me motivated. Thanks for reading!

Blue Drgnfly


End file.
